1000 Years
by WizMonCruWil
Summary: "I have died every day waiting for you. Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years... I'll love you for a thousand more..." I have written a Nevmione long romance before, but I wanted to do it justice, flesh it out more, in the way that Calebski did with his wonderful fic Flourishing Devotion. I also added a little twist to it. Please, please Review. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: Lost Toad, Found Friend

**Chapter 1: Lost Toad, Found Friend **

Neville Longbottom stared up at the seemingly impervious wall with a dubious expression on his face. When his Gran had initially said that they would be passing through a barrier to get to Platform 9 3/4s, he had expected something a little more... malleable. Like a turnstile. Or a somewhat friendly ticket-taker in a conductor's hat.

Beside him, an aging Augusta Longbottom snorted her impatience. She was an old battle-axe of a woman with a hawkish nose, a firm chin and piercing eyes that expected much from her grandson. Neville had been in her care since he was a baby. As to how he came to be with such a taskmaster grandparent... well, Neville preferred not to dwell on that just now.

"For goodness sake, Neville! Stand up straight and charge that barrier! It won't hurt you!"

Neville darted his eyes up to her. "But the Muggles will see me!"

"Oh, pish tosh! Most Muggles don't know which way is up! Now attack that column!" A pause, and then came the comment all at once more stirring and crippling than Gran's orders. "Your father would charge that barrier."

Neville sighed meekly. And there it was again. In Gran's household, the shadow of Frank Longbottom - her only son - loomed large. From the time Neville was small, his Gran would find any little thing to compare him to his dad - or, to put it more accurately, contrast him with his dad. Where Frank had been muscular, Neville was chubby (persistent baby fat clung like a childish cancer to his cheeks and middle, even at 11). Where Frank had possessed an almost photographic memory, Neville was, at best, forgetful. Where Frank was brave, Neville was a cowardly louse.

Nerves eating him alive, Neville held up his palms, which cradled a precocious bullfrog. Gran had bought it for him based on the advice of the packing list and her own rapier judgement. First-years were at the liberty to select an owl, a cat or a toad for a pet. A vast majority chose owls, and since cats largely looked the same, Gran had figured Neville would be the least likely to forget an animal owned by the smallest minority of Hogwarts students and who also would not be mistaken by someone else's frog. Bullfrogs had distinctive enough features, and that was true of this one.

The frog, whose name was Trevor, eyed Neville beadily before harrumphing a restive croak. As if to say, _Get on with it, man! We haven't all day! _

Taking a deep breath, Neville stuffed Trevor a little too rudely into the pocket of his robes and braced his hands on the handlebars. He dug his feet into the unyielding concrete, the trolley's weight putting up an even fight against his meager show of strength before eventually ceding to its master. Neville built up a running start, the barrier rushing forward to meet him. He visibly winced, bracing himself for a head-on collison and...

Nothing happened. No crash of the trolley capsizing. Neville opened his eyes.

Steam was rising off to his left, to reveal an imposing, scarlet locomotive. Parents and students in robes just like his were teeming about, loading trunks and cages through the open windows. Neville felt the sharp hand dig into his shoulder, and though he would recognize that touch anywhere, he still flinched.

"This way, grandson. We'll find you a good compartment."

They found a window that looked into empty quarters about halfway down the train. With a flick of her wand, Gran levitated all of Neville's belongings in through the open window. "Right. The train leaves at 11. Have a good term. Send me an owl when you get there." She pecked his cheek - a rare, probably only sign of affection she ever allowed herself. She smelled distinctly of prunes and denture cream.

Neville nodded to her, perplexed that she didn't immediately disappear into the crowd. Evidently, she wanted to watch him get on the train, perhaps capture the moment with... what did Muggles call those contraptions? A Kodak? A camera? Gran probably wanted a picture the way most invested parents do. A platform connecting two cars was nearby, but Neville feared that he would forget which compartment his stuff was in. So, he elected to climb through the window. The tails of his robes scrunched up to his stomach, revealing his trousers.

"Neville, honestly!" Gran huffed. And she tipped him the rest of the way in rather than leave her only grandson hanging halfway out an open window. The Hogwarts Express blew its whistle and Neville shakily got to his feet, in time to wave farewell to his Gran as the train pulled away.

The Express was scarcely out of the station when Neville noticed how significantly lighter his pockets felt. Oh no... Trevor! The poor thing must have been dumped to the floor when he so ungracefully boarded the train. Suddenly terrified, Neville hopped from foot to foot. No frog guts or corpse anywhere to indicate the poor bloke had been crushed. He probably hopped away purposefully, having already surmised that he stood a better chance without Neville than with him. Neville would have to search the train. Sighing, he approached the glass door of the compartment, when it suddenly slid open, a trunk was swung around...

And in strode the most confident witch Neville had ever seen. The girl looked to be about his age, with frizzy brown hair, that shaped a round, cute face, adorning it like a halo. Or at least a halo that relied on short-circuited, Muggle electricity. Her eyes were pools of molten chocolate, and as she met his eyes, Neville recognized a gaze that was very familiar. Very reminiscent of his Gran: whoever this girl was, she suffered no fools.

"Hullo. I'm Hermione Granger. What's your name?"

Well, that was a name he would never forget. It was powerful... and beautiful. All in all, it suited her. Neville did not realize he was tongue-tied until Hermione cocked an eyebrow querulously. Name... she'd asked him his name.

"Uh... Neville. Neville Longbottom."

He waited for the inevitable giggle at his damning surname, but it didn't come. Instead, Hermione purposefully stuck out her hand and they firmly shook.

"Pleased to meet you. May I sit? Everywhere else is full."

"Please," Neville allowed. "You can have it to yourself for a while."

To his surprise, the girl frowned. She looked almost hurt, and Neville feared he had something wrong even as Hermione peered at him more curiously. "What's wrong?"

"I lost my Toad. Right after I got on the train. I think he may have hopped into the corridor.

Hermione's brown eyes gleamed with intrigue. "I've never met a student who owned a Toad yet. He can't have gone far. Come on, I'll help you look for him."

Neville allowed himself a hopeful smile. Never in all his life had he met someone as understanding as her. Well, except maybe his mum. "You're a very kind person," he told her, and the two first-years exited for the corridor.

"You take that side of the car; I'll take this side. Meet back here." And Hermione flounced in one direction, leaving Neville in awe of her commanding presence. They had only just met, and yet Neville knew he'd follow that authoritative voice anywhere. He took off in the other direction, clapping his hands and calling lamely. "Here, toady, toady..."

* * *

Neville beat Hermione back to their compartment with no luck on his search, folding himself into the plush seat to wait and hoping it would swallow him. Five minutes later, she was back, flicking her untamed hair out of her face and huffing exasperatedly.

"Any luck?"

"No," Neville glumly replied. Hermione sat down across from him. "I asked around. Two boys who looked like they had raided the entire sweet trolley said they hadn't seen him. The ginger one was trying to curse his pet rat. They hadn't even changed into their robes!"

Neville shrugged. "Boys will be boys." It was a phrase his Gran used a lot, usually to excuse him and his prat-falling ways.

"Nonetheless, it would be nice to see more boys who acted like men. Like you," Hermione lamented. This oddly caused Neville to flush beet red. It felt nice to be viewed as a man, and not as a child, certainly by one of his peers. "I expected more of the great Harry Potter."

Neville stared. "You _met_ Harry Potter?!" Hermione nodded quite seriously. A hundred questions flooded Neville's voice box, but he let them all simmer into silence. He didn't want to appear too eager. He had heard of the great Harry Potter and his role in the night the Dark Lord fell. The fact that he would be in their year was quite a boon.

By now, the wheat fields had passed into forested trees, which now merged into little townhouses as they passed into a quaint village. The sun had traversed its journey across the skies, for the moon to now usurp it. The white orb was high in the sky by the time Hermione and Neville felt the train slowing down. Helping each other gather their trunks, the pair disembarked from the train onto the platform. Amidst the sea of little heads, a loping, lumbering figure waded through them all, casting the light of a lantern from left to right. "First years! First years, follow me."

Hermione and Neville were jostled closer, and Neville stared. For before him was the most giant man he had ever seen. His hands were the size of garbage can lids, but even then, he seemed to be struggling with something in his free palm. "Why the devil can't this little horny toad stay still?"

Neville peeked through fingers the size of salamis, and by the light of the lantern he saw...

"TREVOR!"

The giant, most of his face obscured by a black nest of beard, glanced down at the dumpy lad. "This little guy yours? Here you go!" Neville eagerly took the toad from him, smiling his thanks.

"He must have hopped off, same as everyone else. I lost him on the train."

The giant smiled kindly. "What's your name, boy?"

"Neville Longbottom, sir."

"Longbottom? Not Frank and Alice Longbottom's boy? Yer parents are the finest folk I've ever known. Hagrid's the name."

Hermione smiled in relief at Neville, pleased that his toad was back. "I'm Hermione Granger," she introduced herself precociously.

Hagrid beamed and tipped his hat. "It's my pleasure, Hermione. First years, follow me!" He continued his booming instructions as the sea of students followed his buoy of light, off of the platform and down a sloping hill until they came to the shore of a lake.

"The Black Lake!" Hermione whispered excitedly, tugging on Neville's arm. Seeing the little wooden boats before them, the first years awkwardly tried to commandeer one. Neville was glad that he and Hermione remained sardined together in the throng, and they ended up seated next to each other in one, along with a red-haired girl Neville didn't know. She couldn't be one of those Weasleys, could she? The Weasleys were a prominent pure-blood family, just like his, but they pretty much had almost all boys. But no, the girl introduced herself as Susan Bones.

Hagrid commandeered an entire boat for himself that seemed to barely take his weight. Somehow, it was sea-worthy as he led the flotilla across the Black Lake, towards the twinkling lights of Hogwarts castle seated high on a cliff. They made the crossing in almost no time at all and were guided into the Entrance Hall. There, in emerald-green robes, stood a woman who displayed the same imperial countenance as Neville's Gran. Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, laid out the rules for the start of term feast, before she and Hagrid exited into the Great Hall to prepare the rest of the castle for the new pupils' arrival.

While they waited, a loud, boorish, brash boy pointed out Harry Potter to the rest of the class. And there he was now, just ahead of Neville and Hermione, with spiky black hair and glasses that seemed slightly too big for his face. The fellow standing next to him also had red hair - they were indeed the fellows Hermione had met on the train - who was identified by the blond boor as Ron Weasley. The blond boor was Draco Malfoy, and upon hearing the name, Neville paled. He too knew well that name - another pureblood dynasty like his. Only this one was not as friendly. The Malfoys were notorious for supporting Voldemort eleven years earlier. It also reminded Neville of _her_, the witch who was supposedly a relative and had haunted his family... no, focus. He unclenched his balled fists.

Harry admirably told the Malfoy boy off, just in time before McGonagall came back to escort them inside. The Great Hall had four long tables filled with students. Neville was fixated by the candles floating in mid-air around their heads.

"They're enchanted," he heard Hermione whisper to Susan Bones on his left. "I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_."

In the center of the room stood a tall black hat, which promptly burst into song. Then McGonagall read names one by one from a scroll, to sort the first years into their houses. Neville felt a thin sheen of sweat accumulate on his brow. He had given far too much thought to what house he would be put in. His parents had both been in Gryffindor, for they were brave. But what house best described him? Certainly not Slytherin - he wasn't selfish. But he wasn't brave either, like the Gryffindors. Smart as a Ravenclaw... no. He liked to think that he was loyal. He decided to hope that he would be sorted into Hufflepuff and hope for the best.

"Hermione Granger!"

For the first time since he'd met her, Hermione appeared daunted. She took the stool trepidatiously, and Neville could hear her whispering to herself as she shuffled out from beside him in line, trying to talk herself down. "OK. Don't be nervous... relax..."

"... one. I'm telling ya," Neville didn't catch all of what Ron murmured to Harry, off to his right. His thoughts were jarred away when the hat, barely on Hermione's head, bellowed out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

A cheer went up from the center right table, and Hermione happily skipped down to join them. Well, he was screwed. Neville now desperately hoped the hat would short-circuit itself and put him in Gryffindor. Because at least in Gryffindor, he would have a friend.

"Neville Longbottom!"

The prerequisite snicker came rising from the back, led of course by Draco Malfoy, but was quickly stamped away by McGonagall's sharp eye, as Neville took the stool.

"Longbottom, eh?" the hat barked once on him, and Neville whimpered. "I know exactly where to put you... GRYFFINDOR!"

He nearly fainted off the stool. The hat must have short-circuited. Two ginger-haired boys who he was certain were Ron's older brothers - twins - had to move to help him to his seat, which was an empty space right by Hermione. She enthusiastically gave him a one-armed squeeze, and he smiled weakly back.

Huh. Maybe he _was_ brave, after all.


	2. Chapter 2: Trolls Everywhere

**Chapter 2: Trolls Everywhere **

Neville emerged into the bustling activity of the Great Hall. The breakfast rush was at its peak. But even amidst the din, he had learned to pick her out of a crowd. Her luscious mane of bushy brown hair always gave her away. Sidling up, he offered her a friendly smile while seating on the bench across from her.

"Morning, Hermione!"

She beamed at him with her pronounced buck teeth. "Morning, Neville!"

Neville didn't know how he would have gotten through his close to first two months at Hogwarts if it wasn't for Hermione Granger. With one or two exceptions, their class schedules lined up almost exactly. Neville had resolved quickly to ally himself with Hermione as often as possible during their studies and elsewhere. She was pretty much his only friend.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Two other first years boys had occasionally taken to sitting with them at the Gryffindor table: Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. The former was a half-blood of Irish descent, with a thick brogue to match ("Me dad's a Muggle. Mum's a witch. Bit of a nasty shock when he found out," he had explained the first time they met). Much to Neville's dismay, he was coming to discover that the topic of blood purity was a matter of great importance in Hogwarts social circles, at least as a matter of introduction. The Slytherins were really the only ones who minded who was who, but even then the matter of one's blood was a determining factor of identification. The latter Gryffindor, for example, was a black fellow with a kind face, who was apparently Muggle-born.

That was how it had come out that Hermione was, in fact, Muggle-born: the daughter of dentists, a concept that only Dean seemed to understand. Neville didn't get most of it, only that dentists were doctors for teeth.

He would never have otherwise guessed that Hermione had no magical heritage. She was quickly proving herself to be the top of their year, reciting lessons with an almost encyclopedic memory. It was rather uncanny, almost like a Pavlovian response: when a professor asked a question, she positively _salivated_.

Dean and Seamus were intrigued by Hermione's intellect, if also a little intimidated. Neville was in awe. But not everyone took kindly to Hermione's brilliance. Ron Weasley was particularly abrasive to the behavior.

Neville was under the impression that Ron had the reputation for being a loudmouth, as was proven one evening when the group of Gryffindor first-year boys were walking back from a Charms lecture. "It's Leviooooosa," Ron was imitating Hermione's authoritative tone. "She's a nightmare, honestly!"

Neville winced, but could not bring forth the courage to say anything. Dean and Seamus nodded sympathetically. Just then, a blur bulldozed into the gang from behind, flouncing past. The utterance of what sounded like a sob was barely heard over the clamor. Neville's heart sank as he recognized the mop of Hermione's hair. Harry Potter also recognized their classmate and slowed to a stop in his tracks. "I think she heard you," he murmured to Ron.

Ron appeared not to detect the hint of admonishment, refusing to leave well enough alone. "So? She must realize she's got no friends!"

"I'm her friend." The comment came from nowhere, and had the boys not all turned back in his direction, Neville would have been unsure if he had spoken aloud. More uncertain still was where his bravery had come from. Despite this, Ron was unimpressed.

"Other than Neville." Disappointingly, none of the other boys raised their hands.

* * *

That same night was the Halloween Feast. Neville exited the common room as the afternoon shadows were lengthening. Exiting the portrait hall, he happened to catch the tail end of a conversation by Pavarti Patil, one of a pair of twins.

"Granger has been inside the girls' bathroom all afternoon. I could hear her crying." His heart constricted like a noose.

He found a place downstairs next to Seamus and Dean, who greeted him with silence and absolutely no mention of what had occurred after Charms class. Not long after, Harry and Ron joined them, equally tight-lipped. At least until Harry - the only one other than Neville who seemed to care - asked, "Where's Hermione?" Neville relayed in dire tones what he had heard from Pavarti. In digesting this, Harry appeared empathetic. By contrast, Ron seemed callous, almost unconcerned.

But all the boys were equally shaken when Professor Quirrell of Defense Against the Dark Arts burst in on the wave of a thunder clap, shrieking, "Troll! In the dungeons!" He promptly fainted dead away in the middle of the tables.

Dumbledore quickly restored order, and dismissed the student body to their dormitories. That was when Harry caught Ron's arm.

"Hermione! She doesn't know!" In a time of great distress, Neville was relieved to see Ron finally grow a conscience.

"Oh, all right! But Percy'd better not see us!" Ron's older brother was Prefect for Gryffindor House.

Neville lunged after the duo as they made to slip away in the confusion. "I'm coming too!"

"No!" Ron refused emphatically. In making his decision, Harry appeared more pained and torn, but he ultimately sided with his best friend. "Neville, please. Wait in the common room with the others. We'll get Hermione back."

As he watched them take off, Neville hoped those weren't Harry Potter's last words.

* * *

It was deep night as Neville, Seamus and Dean waited in the common room by the fire. At last, the Fat Lady swung open, and in came the Trio, thankfully alive. Harry's demeanor appeared stoic; to Neville's almost smug satisfaction, Ron projected himself as clearly shaken. And for once, he wasn't belittling Hermione. The pair were even exchanging friendly smiles.

"We lost 5 points, but then gained 10 back," Harry said flatly, looking exhausted enough that he wandered in a daze almost right past the other boys.

"For bloody what?" Dean gawped.

"Knocking out the troll," Ron explained nonchalantly. Neville and the others stared.

Hermione beamed, the firelight doing nothing to hide her blushing. "They saved my life." Neville grinned at her in relief. If this wasn't the makings of a truce, nothing was.

Seamus grinned. "Ya gave us quite a scare, lass! Get some sleep!" Hermione trudged up to bed, and the five young men climbed the stairs to their dorm.

It was a few days before Neville and the others could get out of Harry and Ron just how they did it.

* * *

"I've never been much for sports," Hermione bubbled, as she and the Gryffindor first year boys scaled the risers for the first Quidditch game of the season.

Ron shrugged. "Then, you're in for a treat. Quidditch is easy enough to understand."

"Yeah, cause there are hardly any rules," Dean grumbled, as they sank into their seats. "I mean, here, if you get hid in the head with a Bludger, it's permissible. But if you get hit in the head by a soccer ball, that's a foul. And if you rack up enough fouls, the ref gives you a red card and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't soccer, Dean," Ron pointed out.

The group cheered loudly for Harry as he made his Quidditch debut. But about an hour into the game, his Nimbus 2000 began to act very strangely, at one point nearly bucking its rider off.

Ron panicked. "What do we do?"

In the row behind them, Draco Malfoy and his cronies were chortling at Harry's expense. "Give him a body bag!" Crabbe hollered.

Draco sneered at Hermione. "Wouldn't it be perfect if Potter landed on your useless mug?"

Ron made a furious move towards the Trio, and for once, Neville's thoughts were in perfect harmony with his friend. With more bravery than he ever expected, Neville stood and raised his fists, recalling a moment from a Muggle movie involving a cowardly lion. "Put em up! Put em up!" Dukes cocked, the pair of boys charged.

As tall as him, though not nearly as wide, Neville found that he and Crabbe were actually a pretty even match. And fortuitously for him, Goyle had about as much balance as a baby elephant, toppling into the riser behind them headfirst. Without the element of surprise, Neville could not hope to take them both, certainly not Goyle. So he vaulted into the next riser and sat on him, further pinning Goyle with his left, while fending off Crabbe with his right. Beside them, Neville caught a flash of Ron getting a punch in on Malfoy. He had to give him credit: true, Ron could be a bit of a pain, but he was bloody handy in a fight, brawling with a scrappiness that could only come from competing with five older brothers. Meanwhile, Hermione watched in amazement as not one, but two boys, defended her honor. She was heartened to think that had Harry been there, it would have been three, making it a fair fight. Though Ron and Neville were making it pretty fair on their own.

In the midst of the skirmish, which had spilled into the stands about four rows deep, jostling other patrons, Harry remounted his broom. Taking off, he soon caught the Snitch, winning the match. Later, he chortled with laughter at Ron's retelling of the brawl, which included pretty high praise for Neville. The worst harm that befell any of them was Malfoy's black eye.

* * *

He could hear them, creeping down the stairs from the dormitories. Folding himself further into the armchair, Neville suppressed a groan. Harry and Ron and dragged Hermione into enough of their lawless schemes, usually as an unwilling participant. She should know better! He expected more from her. And although she had grown closer to Harry and Ron than anyone else, he and she were still friends. He wanted her safe!

He heard a rustle as his approaching classmates halted. The sound of Ron's telltale groan. "Bloody hell, Trevor! Get out of here! You shouldn't be here!"

Neville swiveled the armchair around. "Neither should you," he growled.

Harry, who had always made the best peace, tried to talk Neville down. But he refused to budge. "No! I won't let you! You'll get Gryffindor in trouble again!" And like before at the Quidditch match, though with more of a tremor in his voice, he put up his dukes. "I'll fight you!"

Hermione stepped forward, deep regret and even pain in her eyes. "Neville, I'm really, really sorry about this. Petrificus Totalus!"

Neville went stiff as a board and keeled over backwards. Even his eyes were frozen, though he could still observe the Trio as they stepped over his prone form. Hermione paused, kneeling by his side. "I'm sorry," she whispered as her mouth brushed his cheek.

And though he was frozen, though it would be a good thirty minutes until Dean found him by dumb luck on a bathroom run, Neville realized he had never admired a witch more than Hermione Granger in that moment.


	3. Chapter 3: Slugs and Snakes

**Chapter 3: Slugs and Snakes**

It was a bright fall day at the start of their second year, as Neville sat with Ron and Hermione on a stone bench in the courtyard. They watched as the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams converged in a confused traffic jam, an argument threatening to erupt over reservation of the pitch.

"I smell trouble," Ron led the group over, though Neville wasn't sure how much help they'd be. He hung back behind Hermione, as the Slytherins parted to reveal none other than Draco sodding Malfoy as their new Seeker. And there were new brooms - a point that Draco gloated over by snubbing Ron.

Hermione scoffed. "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent."

Something in Draco's expression changed. Something scary. Sure, Neville thought Draco always scary, but that's because he possessed a low threshold for fear. Draco sneered.

"No one asked your opinion. You filthy, little Mudblood."

Neville saw red. Something primal and possessive, just as scary if not more so than Draco's expression roared up inside him and against his better judgement, he flicked a hand to the wand in his robes.

But equally indignant Ron got there faster. "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy. Eat slugs!"

There was a bang, but it was Ron, not Malfoy, who was blasted back. Harry and Hermione ran to help him, but Ron could do nothing but hurl up slugs.

Draco hooted at the sight. And Neville snapped.

"Hey." Draco had barely turned around before Neville used the same spell Ron had. His aim was truer, knocking the Slytherin flat. Now Draco was urping up slugs. Hermione shot Neville a grateful look. Once again, Neville had somehow gotten the drop on him, much to the amusement of everyone except for Marcus Flint, who seemed thoroughly embarrassed that Longbottom of all people had shown his Seeker up.

Harry thought fast as a slug from Ron came in danger of landing on his robes. "Let's take them to Hagrid's. He'll know what to do. Neville, carry the worm!"

Neville obeyed, pinning Draco to his side in an admirable show of strength, all the more so when a thoroughly humiliated Malloy tried to resist. The quintet hustled off the courtyard, Harry making sure to elbow Flint out of the way for instigating the whole fiasco.

* * *

Hagrid provided Ron with a bucket when they arrived. For Draco, there would be no such accommodations, especially once the gamekeeper figured out who started it.

"You take the window, Malfoy," Hagrid snarled as he prepared a cup of tea. "Nothing to do but wait till it stops, I'm afraid." The two cursed boys hurled in perfect time. Hagrid winced. "Better out than in." He glared in Malfoy's direction. "What ya run your mouth on this time, boy?"

Since Draco was in no position to answer, Harry did it for him. "He called Hermione a..." he glanced to her helplessly.

Hermione stood, stalking to the remaining window, eyes blazing but wounded. "He called me a Mudblood."

Hagrid gasped. "He did not!"

Harry frowned. "What's a Mudblood?" Neville was about to explain in his soft spoken manner, but Hermione beat him to it.

"It means dirty blood. Mudblood is a foul name for someone who is Muggle-born. Someone with non-magic parents. Someone like me." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It's a hideous slur to use in civilized conversation."

Hagrid explained about the caste system of blood purity, which Neville understood all too well. Though a pureblood himself, the system wasn't intransigent in its ways, as even purebloods like he and the Weasleys were looked down upon, mostly due to their politics.

For a novice like Harry, he was appalled. "That's horrible!"

Ron threw up another slug, and between rounds managed to get out, "It's disgusting!" Hermione beamed tenderly at him.

"And it's codswallop to boot," Hagrid scoffed.

"No it's not!" Draco blasted out between slugs. Neville responded by holding his classmate at wandpoint, sticking the unicorn tip straight into his back. "You wanna barf for a few more hours? Be my guest!" Hermione gave him an affectionate smile and even Ron bestowed Neville with an almost sentimental look of approval. And perhaps even... respect.

"Plus, if there isn't a spell that our Hermione can't do. Don't you think on it, Hermione - not for one minute."

Hermione weakly smiled, feeling a bit better.

"My father will hear about this!" Draco moaned at the perceived indignity.

Neville was too quick on the draw. Draco threw up slugs all night.

* * *

It was close to the end of the year when the Gryffindor boys followed Harry and the Quidditch team out to the pitch for the Quidditch Cup Final. Neville had been looking for Hermione all morning, but figured she would turn up. Just then, Professor McGonagall ran to intercept the group at the stands. "This match has been cancelled."

"They can't cancel Quidditch!"

"Silence, Wood," McGonagall barked. Then she turned to the Gryffindor boys. "Potter, Weasley, if you'll please come with me." And right then, Neville sensed deep in his bones what this was about. He felt strangely short of breath, and his heart was beating rapidly. Ron and Harry, meanwhile, had turned as pale as Nearly Headless Nick. They followed McGonagall off the pitch. Neville scrambled after them. "I'm coming, too!"

Though deeply frazzled, this time Ron acquiesced into Neville coming along. "Oh, all right!" The three boys trailed McGonagall all the way to the hospital wing. His worst fears confirmed, Neville almost collapsed before they got there. Upon arrival, he damn near did. Ron was nearly transparent, the most frightened he had ever appeared.

"Hermione!"

Hermione looked far too small in the hospital bed. She seemed to resemble one of those unconscious princesses in the Muggle stories his Gran had exposed him to as a child. A princess that could only be awakened by the grace of a kiss. The thought of kissing Hermione suddenly made Neville feel very warm inside, despite the moment being so macabre. All the same, he wouldn't want to kiss Hermione in this moment, with her eyes perpetually stricken and her mouth hanging open. Beside her in the next bed was another stiff girl whom Neville did not recognize - only that she was a Prefect and one of Percy Weasley's particular friends.

"They were found near the library," McGonagall informed them. "I don't suppose any of you could tell me what this is? It was on the floor next to them."

She held up a small, handheld mirror. Harry accepted the object, pushing his glasses down to the bridge of his nose and peering over the rim of his spectacles to inspect it. He and Ron morosely shook their heads, then glanced to Neville. He met their stare helplessly.

"Gosh, don't look at me! I don't know!" He only knew one thing: the mirror wasn't Hermione's. He had never known her to carry a mirror like that.

* * *

There were rumors that the school was going to close. Professor Sprout was working on a mandrake potion to cure the victims of the Basilisk. Neville wanted to yell at his favorite teacher to work faster, that she wasn't working hard enough. That he wanted to help.

But all he could do to help was sit by Hermione's bedside and hold her clammy hand.

He had visited her every day since the news, always separately of Harry and Ron. When he wasn't with her, he was attempting to focus on his classes, such as they were. He had almost asked Professor Sprout if he could help with the mandrakes, offer his services, but his hit-and-miss Gryffindor courage failed him. She might have asked why he was so eager.

And no one could know why - not yet, anyway.

Neville glanced at the clock. The dinner feast would be over soon, signaling Harry and Ron's rapid approach for their evening visit. Squeezing Hermione's hand, he stood to go. "I'll come again soon, Hermione."

He daren't say anything else. Even in her comatose state, she might have heard him.

* * *

He sensed her bushy presence long before he saw her. And when he did, his face lit up. "Harry! It's Hermione!"

Her beaming smile flooded the hall, and the three boys were soon scrambling out of their seats to embrace her. A hug for Harry, a hug and peck on the cheek for Neville. But when she got to Ron, he and Hermione oddly paused. Neville's heart froze for a fraction, wary. Had he seen what he thought he saw, in her eyes? The friends settled on shaking hands.

"Welcome back, Hermione," Ron croaked out.


	4. Chapter 4: Buck Teeth and Balls

**Chapter 4: Buck Teeth and Balls **

Professor Snape was yelling at them again. Or more specifically, poor Neville, barking at him a question pertaining to Flobberworm mucus. Flat-footed, Neville turned to a well honed instinct: looking to Hermione for help.

It worked all the better as an excuse to just gaze at her. In the two years since the Chamber of Secrets incident, Hermione had blossomed into a beautiful woman. She developed more voluptuous curves, her face had bloomed to be increasingly striking. Even her bushy mane of hair was more tamed, though all the more tempting for Neville to just run his fingers through...

"Mr. Longbottom! I cannot fathom how you find Ms. Granger to be so fascinating, but I asked you a question.

Even in the dim light of the dungeon, Neville thought he saw Hermione blushing. "Please, Professor, the origin of flobberworm mucus is extract of..."

"Mr. Longbottom is not a deaf mute, Ms. Granger! He does not need any help, especially from an insufferable know-it-all."

Though her eyes glowered, Hermione was snapped into silence. For his part, Neville's burning impulse to tell Snape off failed yet again, as it always did when confronted by his least favorite teacher. He tried to picture the Boggart of Snape from third year, dressed in his grandmother's clothes and hat, but it didn't help.

* * *

Draco decided to twist the knife after class by hexing Hermione's buck teeth so that they grew extra large. Neville came upon the Golden Trio to find Hermione bawling her eyes out into Ron's shoulder. "What happened?"

"Malfoy," Harry gnashed grimly. He flagged down the first Professor he saw, which just happened to be Professor Snape. "Professor, Hermione has to be taken to the hospital!"

"For a case of bruised ego? Hardly," Snape drolled. Neville's fists clenched, enough for Ron to notice and shoot him a sympathetic warning look. Though he was affronted himself.

"But Professor! Look what Malfoy did to her!" And he made Hermione show Snape her teeth.

Snape regarded it blankly. "I see no difference." Hermione gasped and then whimpered, her eyes welling up anew. Now, even Neville joined with his mates in telling Snape off, prompting the Potions Master to bellow that they all had detention. Harry volunteered to escort Hermione to Madame Pomfrey, and then retreated to the common room to wait with the others.

It came as a shock when Hermione returned later. "Hermione!" Ron stared. "What have you done to your teeth?"

Hermione's smile was distinctly different, more... beautiful, Neville noted, as she giggled at them. "Well, Madame Pomfrey shrunk my teeth and told me to signal her when to stop, and I just... let her go on longer."

Her buck teeth were gone. In their place was a straight, dazzling smile that made Neville's heart ectopically wobble. Yup. She was beautiful.

* * *

Neville's brow furrowed as he concentrated on adding just the right amount of Shining Potion from the squeeze tube. As he watched the petals of the red rose glisten in exactly the way the Herbology book said they were supposed to, he grinned triumphantly. It was ready! And not a moment too soon, either.

Ever since the Yule Ball had been announced after the completion of the Second Task, Neville Longbottom had decided to gather the Gryffindor courage he knew had to be within him somewhere. Helping Harry Potter successfully navigate the Black Lake with Gillyweed had only served to boost his confidence, to finally approach the secret object of his affection and ask a question.

Neville had secretly had a crush on Hermione Granger for years. She had always helped him with the subjects he struggled in (Potions and Professor Snape being his largest hurdle by far, and Herbology the one exception). She was intelligent, the best in their fourth year. And, at the end of this summer, Neville had noticed she had blossomed into an even more attractive witch. Developed more womanly curves. He knew if he wanted her to be his date to the Yule Ball, he would have to move fast.

There was a likely very big obstacle that could move faster than him.

Viktor Krum, the Quidditch hero and Durmstrang Triwizard Champion, had conspicuously chosen Hermione as his object stolen from him and hidden at the bottom of the Black Lake. Most of the Hogwarts student body had been whispering about the pair, and the general gossip consensus was that Krum fancied Hermione - much to the disbelief of many, especially the other girls. Whether Hermione returned the sentiments was the topic up for the most intense debate. Although Krum had not asked Hermione to the ball, as far as Neville was aware, he knew it was only a matter of time.

So thinking, he took his enchanted rose with him from Professor Sprout's greenhouse and hurried up to the castle, encouraged to ask Hermione Granger to the Yule Ball by the end of the day. Even before the start of their final class.

* * *

Over a period of several days, Neville had closely watched Hermione's routine after their double Potions lesson with Professor Snape. She almost always left with Ron and Harry, going as far as the third floor of the grand staircase before peeling off to the library to study.

Neville knew this would the opportune moment, in the quiet of the maze of bookshelves, to get Hermione alone. He was being amazingly courageous to even ask her at all. To do so with the increased chance of other people watching or overhearing? He wasn't _that_ brave. And he shuddered to think about how Ron and Harry might react. They had always been very protective of Hermione, like she was a baby sister to them; they had gone after Draco Malfoy more than once to defend her honor - not every wizard had that kind of juevos.

As soon as Snape dismissed his students for the day, Neville packed up his bag, clumsily getting his satchel's zipper stuck at first in his haste. Joining the throng of fourth years a decent distance behind the Golden Trio, he followed inconspicuously, the rose hidden safely in his cloak.

At the grand staircase, he watched as Hermione bid goodbye to the boys and peeled off down the corridor towards the library. He slipped after her, trailing so as not to arouse her suspicion. By the time he entered the hall of study, she had disappeared amongst her precious books.

Heart in his throat, Neville scanned down aisle by aisle, until at last he found Hermione, in a thankfully deserted section. A table at the back corner of one reading nook, concentrating on Snape's latest essay. Taking a deep breath, one hand hidden in his cloak and on the rose, Neville strode forward. _Just do it quick, like a bandaid_, he had heard Fred and George Weasley telling one nervous fifth year about getting a date. It seemed like good advice, especially from a normally unreliable, joking source like the Weasley twins.

"Hey, Hermione."

Hermione looked up, her face looking beautiful when framed with her bushy brown hair. "Oh, hey, Neville," she smiled. "What's up?"

"I want to ask you something!" Neville got out a little too forcefully, before his nerves failed him.

Hermione chuckled curiously, thrown by his eagerness. "OK..." she smiled in encouragement. It was probably about Snape's essay, or even how to hold up against his merciless mockery in class.

It turned out to be neither, as Hermione watched Neville pull a sparkling rose from his cloak and hold it aloft, out to her. "Wouldyouliketogototheballwithme?"

He got it out in a rush, so that the words ran together, and he even stuttered on a syllable or two. Hermione regarded him kindly.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

Neville breathed deeply, even as his heart hammered erratically. "What I meant to say was... would you like to go... to the Yule Ball with me?" He outstretched the rose to her a little more, and Hermione gingerly took it, gaping at him in surprise. Her one finger brushed a petal, but scarcely, as if she was afraid it might break under her touch.

Then... she smiled genuinely, truly touched. "Did you _make_ this? For _me_?"

Neville blushed and shrugged, his breathing starting to even out now that the worst was over. At least, he thought. "Yes. Just a Shimmering Potion. I stayed up all night getting it right."

Hermione beamed with pride. She knew how hard Potions was for him, even without a Snape breathing down his neck. "I'm so flattered..."

There was a but coming; he knew it and Neville steeled himself for the letting down easy. He half-expected her to say that Viktor Krum had already asked her, and that she was promised to him.

"Yes."

Neville blinked, certain he had misheard. "Yes?"

Hermione smiled softly. "Yes, Neville, I'd love to go to the Yule Ball with you!" And she actually hugged him and even gave him a warm peck on the cheek. "You were very brave to ask me. I admire your Gryffindor pluck. And the rose is glorious."

Neville felt ten feet tall, like magic was floating him with Wingardium Leviosa. "Brilliant! I'll meet you in the Great Hall on Christmas Eve."

"Plan on it," Hermione grinned, returning to her seat as she fondled the rose with genuine affection.

Neville left the library still in a daze. Only when he was in the corridor did he let out a whoop of victory.

* * *

The night of the Yule Ball finally arrived. Alone in the girls' dormitory, Hermione checked over her pink dress in the mirror. She was the last to get ready, and had waited until Lavender and the other girls had left; thankfully, they had started primping hours before and finished unfashionably early. Raising her wand, she muttered a simple charm and drew her hair up into a bun, making the strands sleek and shiny. She wanted to look as perfect as she could for Neville - after the effort he took in even asking her, it was the least she could do.

She was one of the last to arrive. Descending down the grand staircase, she was shocked to find how almost everyone in the vicinity stopped and stared at her. Even so, Hermione allowed herself to bask in the glory of it, showing her friends and teachers the new Hermione Granger.

And her esteem swelled all the more as she met Neville at the bottom, handsome in a tuxedo and gazing at her as though she was the reason stars shone.

"Hi," she smiled gently.

"You look beautiful," Neville breathed, and the simplicity of the compliment - no thrills or fuss - impressed Hermione. She waved excitedly, actually blushing, to Harry and Ron, both gaping at her and even more so at whom she was with. At least she was happy her best friends were there - as he was wont to do, Harry had scrambled at the last minute and nabbed dates for both himself and Ron: the Patil twins. Hermione had to say, Harry's ingenuity and resourcefulness never ceased to amaze her, especially when he was under pressure.

The students were let into the Great Hall, and the four champions and their partners took to the floor for the first dance. Only then did Hermione see Viktor for the first time, on the arm of a Hogwarts student whom she didn't recognize. His second choice. She felt bad for him, but a promise was a promise. Ron, meanwhile, barely lasted through one song, plopping down at a table to sulk, eyeing Hermione and particularly Neville with clear envy and more than a little curiosity.

Harry led everyone off, and soon Hermione was waltzing around in Neville's arms. Her heart swelled at how happy he looked, even if he periodically looked down at his feet to make sure he didn't step on her toes. The pair danced through the first dance, then another and another... losing track of time as they got lost in conversation. Hermione was having a really good time, and she told Neville so.

"I knew that the Gillyweed had to be you; you saved Harry's hide with that one..." she praised him sincerely. Spinning about in Neville's arms, her eyes caught the gaze of Viktor Krum - a smoldering one, aimed right at the back of Neville's head. Neville noticed her distress, and tried to follow her gaze.

"Why is he...?" Hermione gently cupped Neville's cheek in her palm and forced his eyes back to her, but too late. Neville had seen. "Hermione, why is Viktor Krum looking at us like that?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I think he's more concentrated on you," she confessed, as the Bulgarian champion now stalked towards them from across the dance floor. At least, to Neville, it felt like stalking. Viktor sidled up to them as the pair's waltzing swung to an abrupt halt. The older man cleared his throat. "Mind if I cut in?"

Yes, Neville did mind. Very bloody much, and he felt his grip about Hermione's waist tighten; she didn't appear to notice. Neville wanted to tell the prancing peacock to take a hike. But his Gryffindor courage was out of town or otherwise preoccupied at the moment. Besides, Viktor sported muscles the width of tree trunks, making Crabbe and Goyle look like cuddly panda bears by comparison. Did Neville really want to cross those? No.

So, ever the gentleman, Neville passed Hermione over to Viktor. "We'll catch up on the next dance," he promised her.

Five minutes later, Neville would come to rue ever ceding the floor to that rogue. He wouldn't let Hermione dance with anyone else all evening, even though watching her, Hermione was trying to get back to her date. At one point, she flashed him a truly apologetic smile.

Great. Now he knew how _Ron_ felt.

And it only got worse after the Ball, when Neville came upon Hermione – his Hermione! – being snogged in a dark corner by Viktor Krum. Hermione did not notice her date. But Neville noticed her. He trudged up to bed crestfallen.

Though if he had observed more closely, he would have realized that Hermione didn't particularly _want_ to kiss Viktor…..


	5. Chapter 5: That's A Promise

**Chapter 5: That's A Promise **

Neville stood in front of the cracked mirror in the Room of Requirement, after the last DA meeting before Christmas break. At first, he had cursed himself for enlisting in Harry's ballsy scheme, to teach the whole of Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts when Dolores Umbridge refused to do it herself.

To his surprise, Neville had gotten better than he ever had under Harry's tutelage. It helped that Hermione was almost always his sparring partner, helping him off the floor whenever she beat him.

But that didn't mean his nerves were calmed. In fact, they were shot, as he secretly eyed Hermione flitting about, cleaning up after the session when they were all alone together. He focused on the mirror, willing his reflection to conjure some Gryffindor courage and do what he should have done after the Yule Ball. But the fire of bravery failed to appear. Pretty soon, he sensed Hermione's presence standing beside him at the mirror.

"Fifteen years ago, a Death Eater named Bellatrix Lestrange tortured my parents," he explained. "I'm quite proud to be their son." And he was, despite the fact that they no longer recognized him.

Hermione rubbed a hand along his shoulder tenderly. Neville soothed into it, despite the staccato of his heart. "We're going to make them proud, Neville. That's a promise."

They smiled at each other, Neville's eyes drifting upward to spy the sprig dangling from the rafters. "Mistletoe," he observed.

To his wildest intrigue, Hermione flushed scarlet. "I... I have to go." And she departed, leaving Neville gazing after her.

* * *

He kept his promise to her, though. When she and Harry needed assistance to defend the Ministry, he answered the call. His muscles burned with protective rage when Yaxley had hold of her. Deflated when she was spirited to safety. Tensed again as he came to accept that if he was ever going to tell her, he'd better do it fast.

* * *

It had been another long night in the greenhouses, with Neville recalling and recreating the plant and potion from two years ago. He as comforted in the knowledge that there was no Viktor Krum looming around...

He caught up with Hermione as she hung back walking up the hill from Hagrid's hut, leaving their evening Care of Magical Creatures class - the final class for Gryffindor sixth years. The sun was just about set above the trees; by the time they reached the castle, it would be dark. Yup, Christmas was coming.

"Hermione!"

She turned, her face glowing and looking beautiful in the rapidly fading light. "Yes, Neville?"

"You heard about Slughorn's party, right?"

Hermione barely suppressed an eye roll at the thought of that nepotistic professor. She loathed the very idea of the Slug Club. "Yes, I am going, though I don't see the point..."

Neville smiled sympathetically. "Well, would it be any more bearable if you went with me?" And he whipped out another enchanted rose with a flourish.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, clearly recognizing the stunt from before the Yule Ball. Then, her eyes seemed to fill with remorseful tears, making Neville's heart drop. Had he offended her, using the same tactic twice over?

"Oh, Neville... I would love to go with you... but I already promised Cormac McLaggen."

Neville seethed inside. Cormac McLaggen had been runner-up to be Keeper on the Quidditch team, Ron beating him out. Most everyone in Gryffindor House correctly viewed him as a pompous ass. Why would someone as mature as Hermione go out with the likes of _him_?

It was almost like Hermione could read his mind. "If you knew why... you wouldn't understand..." And she fled, almost in tears and leaving Neville heartbroken.

* * *

Neville had never liked parties. Mostly because, even if he was lucky enough to be invited to them at all, he always went alone.

It was true now, at Slughorn's Christmas party, to which he had been invited as one of the Potions Master's hand-picked favorite students - the "Slug Club," as it was called. And it would have been true of the Yule Ball two years ago, had he not asked his last place choice, Ginny Weasley, at the last minute. She had just been thrilled to go, as third-years and under had not been allowed. Neville's real choice for that dance had already been chosen by someone else.

He watched her now, peeking out from behind the corner tapestry behind which he was hiding from a prowling Professor Snape. Hermione Granger had been snatched up by another bloke yet again - that swaggering Cormac McLaggen. They were dancing to some of the faint music in the air.

Neville thought he saw Snape heading his way, so he ducked behind the tapestry. A moment later, he felt the fabric move and lift, and he was just about to squeak in fright at Snape's foreboding long nose when -

It wasn't Snape at all. A flushed Hermione Granger dove behind the curtain, panting. She was wearing a cute little pink dress - not as fancy as her Yule Ball gown, certainly, but pretty nonetheless. Her hair was down in striking ringlets. She jumped a little when her eyes met Neville's, obviously surprised to find him there.

"Oh, hello, Neville."

"Hermione? What are you doing?"

"Oh, I just left Cormac... under the mistletoe..." She looked flustered, and her deep brown eyes darted about like she was a cornered animal. She seemed afraid that Cormac would track her down.

"He won't find you here," Neville assured her. "The tosser couldn't find his wand if it did a bloody tap dance in front of him and spit in his eye. Did he try to snog you without asking?"

Hermione chanced a glance at Neville, shocked but still comforted by his perceptiveness. She nodded.

"I hope you smacked him good and hard. No girl should be treated that way!"

Hermione smiled. She was surprised by this new, opinionated, protective Neville, and found that she liked it. "A considerate, feminist gentleman! Such a rare find these days!"

Encouraged, Neville smiled and went on ranting over McLaggen. "No girl should have their first kiss stolen from them!" He faltered at the confused look Hermione sent his way, and the implication sank in. "I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean to assume..."

Hermione chuckled, her pearly white teeth glistening and looking beautiful. "No. It's fine." Checking all around her, she finally whispered an admission. "I snogged Victor Krum two years ago. Only other person who knows besides you is Ginny."

In truth, Neville had already known, as he had witnessed the display himself. Drat. He should have remembered. He felt a jealous rage burn through him at the thought of the smooth Quidditch star, but he hid it well. Hermione had grown very pretty in recent years; coupled with her intelligence, and she was a hot topic of discussion by the boys in the Gryffindor Common Room. As for him, he had secretly been in love with her for years - the way she always helped him in his studies, among other reasons.

"You?"

"What?" He was shaken from his thoughts.

"Have you ever been kissed?"

Neville barked out a self-deprecating laugh, in spite of himself. "Do I look like the kissing type to you?"

Even as he tried to pass it off as a joke, he looked sad. Hermione's heart went out to him. Neville had always been a sentimental favorite among his friends, a prime bully target for his enemies. A hapless wonder in most things, except Herbology. And here he was, behind a tapestry and having come presumably alone.

Before she could decide how to broach the subject, she heard someone bellow, "GRANGER! Where you at?"

"Oh no! Here he comes!" she squeaked, and she darted out from behind the tapestry to avoid a drunken McLaggen.


	6. Chapter 6: Compelled Matches

**Chapter 6: Compelled Matches**

Neville strode with purpose into the Room of Requirement. From the perch of Ariana's portrait hole, he had a command of the whole room.

"Oi! What's up, you lot? Got a surprise for ya."

"Bloody hell, Neville! Not more of Aberforth's cooking!" Seamus moaned in his Gaelic accent.

Neville just smirked, as if to say, _You'll See_, and stood aside. Harry, Ron and Hermione emerged. The Room went up in cheers.

* * *

He was bloodied, scratched, bruised and exhausted. The sword of Gryffindor hung limply at his side. But he felt none of it. He had eyes only for the gorgeous brunette across the room, with her hair down in a loose bun and despite looking worse for wear, still managed to stay captivatingly beautiful.

Neville rose to his feet, and began to stride with purpose across the room. Gone were the days when his Gryffindor courage scurried in and out of his psyche like a skittish mouse. For he was no longer a mouse. Courage was at his command whenever he wished it. And now it was telling him to march up to Hermione Granger, look her in the eye and tell her just how he felt. Maybe even just grab her and snog her senseless. He hadn't worked that out yet.

But then, he saw Hermione spy someone in the crowd, run in the opposite direction and right into the arms of Ronald Weasley.

Where the pair shared a passionate kiss.

Neville stopped dead in his tracks, his heart cleaving in two. In a way, he should have been expecting it. The whole of Gryffindor had been expecting them to get together an entire year before, until that tramp Lavender Brown got in the way. Neville still felt a twinge of guilt at her death the night before.

But it was insignificant when compared with the agony of the woman he had always wanted wrapped in another man's arms. They must have grown closer, fallen in love, during their mission in the wilderness. A closeness Neville could not hope to achieve. And now it was too late.

The tip of Gryffindor's blade was dragging along the tiles now. But before Neville could turn sadly away, he felt a presence appear - a presence that had become as essential as his right arm.

Luna - sweet, loyal, batty Luna - had sidled up to take in the romantic moment. Though her expression was serene, Neville could now recognize a curious flicker in her eyes. It almost looked like... pain?

Neville felt his trusted deputy slip her hand into his. "Come with me," she murmured low.

She led him out of the Entrance Hall, past Filch sweeping up some rubble and into the darkened corner of the demolished stairwell. Reaching up to drape her arms about his neck, Luna stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

Neville was surprised by the intimacy, but he elected to return the gesture so as not to hurt Luna's feelings (whatever they were; the mixed signals were starting to fry his sleep-deprived brain). Pretending another girl was in his arms, he deepened the kiss, sliding his arms about Luna's waist. Luna parted her lips to ravage his mouth before moving on to his nose, cheeks and chin, working her way to his earlobe. There, she whispered:

"We'll live longer with two of us. And if we get married, we'll be done telling each other what to do." War had made them both tire of orders - orders obeyed and orders given, however necessary. Luna paused in kissing him to study Neville's stunned expression. She played with the nape of his neck. "Go ahead then," she smiled gently. "Ask me to marry you."

And in that moment, Neville understood: this was a marriage of convenience. A marriage for survival. Oh, love might come later, but that was unlikely - if his hunch was correct, Luna had her own ghost she needed to run from, but he wouldn't dare call her on it unless he was sure.

So, even though he didn't have a ring, Neville got down on one knee and proposed. "Luna Lovegood, will you marry me?"

She fixed him with a broken smile. "Yes."

* * *

They married in a Muggle church in Neville's hometown a week later. With flowers in her hair, Luna looked radiant behind despondent eyes that only Neville could detect. Xenophillius Lovegood and Gran were the only witnesses.

Not long after, Ron and Hermione departed for Australia to search for Hermione's parents. Neville was anguished upon their return to spy a glistening ring on Hermione's finger; the couple had eloped while abroad.

The following fall, when Minerva asked the Longbottoms to come back despite the painful memories, Neville and Luna answered the call. Only this time, they would be returning as teachers, not students: Neville took over the Herbology post, while Luna became the new Professor of Divination.

He kept tabs on his desired, though. From afar. Hermione entered the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She rose like a rocket through the ranks, and within three years, when Kingsley Shacklebolt opted for an early retirement, was elected the youngest ever Minister for Magic. Ron Weasley, the new Deputy Head Auror under Harry, boasted to anyone who would listen.

* * *

Hermione came home from work early one afternoon to a still and seemingly empty house.

"Ron? Honey? Love, I'm home!" her inside voice called.

No answer. Unconcerned, Hermione was moving to the sitting room when she heard, or thought she heard, a scream.

A very feminine scream.

Frowning, Hermione advanced up the steps to her and Ron's bedroom, the added sound of creaking compelling her forward. "Ron...?"

She burst in and stopped short in surprise. To find her husband buried balls-deep inside a red-faced, thrashing, _wailing_ Luna Lovegood Longbottom.

The first thought to cross Hermione's mind, oddly, was that she would have imagined Luna to maintain her placid facade through all things, even having wild sex. The caught lovers gaped at her in terror. Instead, with an eerie calm, Hermione closed the door behind her, stalked downstairs and retrieved her suitcase from the basement closest.

She was packed, and moved into her own little flat in Diagon Alley, within the month.


	7. Chapter 7: Leaky Cauldron Faucet

**Chapter 7: Leaky Cauldron Faucet**

Neville knocked on the giant oak front door bearing the seal of the Minister for Magic. He had already been cleared through Hermione's secretary, Judith, downstairs that he had an appointment.

"Come in," her sweet voice called, and he opened the door.

In a tight white business suit that hugged her in all the right places, Hermione appeared as alluring as ever. Glancing up from her paperwork, she smiled and even giggled a little at the sight of her old childhood friend schlepping several giant potted plants. "Hi, Neville!" she beamed.

Neville grinned bashfully back, hoping she didn't see him blushing. "Morning, Hermione." He surveyed the room awkwardly. "Where can I...?"

"Oh, in the corner," she directed. Neville set down each pot one at a time - a set of adolescent weeping willows - and hunkered down to work pruning them. As he did so, he and the Minister exchanged small talk: how was Ginny handling pregnancy? Is Molly well? Are Hermione's parents all right? Finally, exhausting every innocent topic, Neville ventured:

"Are you going to Ron and Luna's baby shower?"

She paused, but just for a fraction, over her paperwork before continuing with a huff. "Yes. I feel as if I have to go, strangely enough. Isn't that bloody mental?"

"Situationally? Completely," Neville grasped for the right words. "For you? No." He sent her an encouraging smile. The announcement of Luna's pregnancy had emerged not long after Hermione had moved out. When Luna had first told her husband, late one night in their room, that she was expecting, Neville had panicked, fearing the baby was his. It wasn't as though he hadn't known where she was going during any spare staff break at the castle; he had figured out her dirty little secret ages ago, and he hadn't exactly tried to stop her. When the press found out, they had a field day, Rita Skeeter floating around London as though Christmas had come early.

A sudden idea struck him, and his Gryffindor courage bit on it like a hungry dog. "I'll be there. Would you want to go with me?"

Silence. He finally stopped pruning mid-clip to see Hermione eyeing him from clear across the room. She appeared taken aback. She was peering at him curiously, skeptically, and also a little... amused. Under her withering stare of intrigue, Neville flushed bashfully. "Everyone else will be going in pairs anyway. My advice: for events that are unbearable, it's best to go with a safety net." He had almost used the word friend, but quickly abandoned it. He had learned years ago that, where Hermione Weasley (nee Granger) was concerned, he didn't want to be just friends.

Hermione finally smiled, perhaps recalling him as her Yule Ball date when they were children. "Yes, all right, then. Pick me up at my flat."

He floated back to Hogwarts castle and stayed somewhere in the clouds the rest of the day. Only his separated wife seemed to eye him knowingly.

* * *

Taking Hermione to Ron and Luna's baby shower had been a terrible idea, Neville rationalized that night.

Well, it hadn't been a terrible idea for him to go with her to the thing - far from it. But had he known how Hermione would react, he would have spared her the clear torture of being in a situation which fate had cruelly twisted.

Hermione had grown increasingly jealous over the course of the evening, stewing enough for Neville to have to extract her from the party early. He took her out to drinks at the Leaky Cauldron, where she proceeded to order a butterbeer, down it in one, then call for another. Uh oh. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Three glasses in, Hermione's head was on the tabletop, sobbing.

"That should be _me_ carrying his baby, not that... tramp!" Despite the fact that said tramp was his wife, Neville could only wince. He couldn't exactly fault Luna. Whenever they had made love, it had been pleasing enough, but it had always held an atmosphere that felt... raw. Anguished. He could only think to place his hand on Hermione's shoulder soothingly.

"You deserve someone who will treat you like a Queen. Not just a Minister - a Queen."

Hermione lifted her head, her liquid chocolate eyes suddenly sparkling behind unshed tears as she gave him a weak smile. "You always have," she pointed out.

The charged look they held stretched on for an eternity. Held so long and so hard that it stopped Hannah Abott, the landlady, in her tracks. She gave them both a funny look. The spell broken, Neville almost staggered off of his barstool, nearly dropping his mug of butterbeer. Heat bloomed on Hermione's neck, so deeply that it practically burned to the touch.

Seven drinks in, Hermione was giggling hysterically. Neville was glad he had had the fortitude to only imbibe one glass - he should have stopped Hermione's drinking three rounds ago. The Leaky was just about closed anyway, the Minister and Herbology professor shutting it down for the night.

Neville pulled Hermione off the stool. "OK, to bed with you." He ordered a room upstairs from Hannah, nodded his thanks at her look of concern, and helped Hermione up the steps. She staggered them into the hotel room, Neville holding up her weight. He couldn't help but chuckle at how punch drunk and silly she looked.

"Whoa! Easy there, slugger..." he chortled as they rounded the bed.

What happened next happened so fast that Neville had no time to thwart it. Smashing his face in her hands, Hermione pushed her lips up against his in a dizzying kiss.

The freeze was momentary, and Neville felt guilty for immediately giving in and kissing her back. After several long, blissful moments, Hermione wrenched herself back and out of the kiss with a small POP! Neville was gawking at her, and a giggle escaped him. "Are you all right?" he breathed.

She cocked her head, beaming at him innocently, expectantly. "Aren't you?"

He was better than all right. And all he wanted was to feel again how he felt when Hermione kissed him. So even though he was barely buzzed himself, Neville cradled Hermione's face in his palms and pressed his lips to hers, returning the kiss.

The kiss quickly deepened, Hermione expertly parting her lips and coaxing Neville's tongue into her mouth and down her throat. She tilted her head, granting him better access as her perfect teeth nibbled on his bottom lip, tearing from him a groan. Her arms snaked about his neck, into the nape of his hair, and when she attempted a light tug on the strands, Neville smushed their bodies closer. His own arms encircled Hermione's slim waist, holding her gently.

A finger quickly found the zipper of her skirt, floating just above her rear, and Neville undid it expertly. The garment pooled to the floor, Hermione kicking them off her ankles as they backed up, towards the bed. With that body language, Neville allowed himself to be bolder. He dared to grope lower. His palms heavily caressed and cupped the curvy flesh of Hermione's ass, first one cheek, and then the other. It elicited from her a sexy moan. "Hmmmm..." When he dug his nails into the skin, Hermione swung her leg high, raising it to his waist and hooking it about his torso.

They lost their balance right then, tumbling back onto the bed, still heatedly snogging. Hermione squirmed, letting out a tiny mewl under him as they adjusted themselves. She spread her legs wide, Neville sinking between them perfectly as he worked to push down her knickers. He got them down past her thighs and to her ankles, and she opened herself to him wider, the fabric stretching taut and looking in danger of tearing.

"Mmmm..." Hermione sighed into his mouth again, and she brazenly cupped him between his legs, pumping him even as she clumsily worked to unbutton and work his trousers free. Neville growled deep in his throat, licking his way into Hermione's mouth. He felt the rush of cool air as Hermione finally exposed him to the world. It was a wonder he hadn't come in his pants. And he definitely wasn't going to come now, if Hermione kept rubbing her hands through his hair like that...

Lining up their entrances, he slammed into her without mercy, and she broke the kiss to cry out. Neville sent a love bite into her shoulder and it turned into a whine.

As they wriggled and undulated against each other, Neville managed to extract Hermione from her top and unclasped her bra. The apples that were her perfect breasts hung free, and he nearly orgasmed into Hermione's walls, tight around him, when the forbidden fruit first emerged. He plunged his tongue onto her left breast, slobbering around the areola and taking between his teeth her pert, pink nipple. Hermione arched into him.

"Don't stop..." she slurred. Neville sucked harder, and she violently bucked. Her creamy legs squeezed around him, her heels digging into the shapely slope of his ass, her stilettos leaving a mark. His pace picked up, as their sweaty bodies slapped sweatily together, his balls brushing up all the way against her wet folds.

"Uhhhh... Huhhh... Mmmmmm... MmmmmmHmmmmmm... Hmmmm..." Hermione could only make moaning sounds as the bed creaked and swayed under them. "Faster... faster..." At last, her walls clenched.

"MMMMHHMMMMM!" she wailed into Neville's mouth and came utterly apart, pulsing around him while she threw her head back into the pillow with a happy sigh. Another weak slam, two, and Neville followed, spilling all he had into her. She milked him greedily.

Neville felt dizzy. His vision was spotty and with just enough strength to roll over and out before giving Hermione one last kiss, he fell dead asleep.

* * *

Hermione was the first to wake up in the graying light, its contours just making out the shapes of the room. Rolling over with a restful sigh, she froze when she brushed up against a body.

A body that she could tell intimately was _not_ her husband's. Not that that mattered. She and Ron hadn't slept together in months.

Gazing down in horror at Neville's prone, naked form, a memory trying and refusing to rush back to her, she shrank back. Pausing for just a moment, her fear turned into curiosity, as she took in his handsome face.

The excessive baby fat from when they were children was gone, replaced by lean muscle. His face was utterly relaxed, and in sleep, it made him look even more handsome. Hermione knew hundreds of other women thought so: after the Battle, Neville had been christened as "Snake Slayer," or "Snake Killer," or some other variation of the terms. He had no shortage of admirers in the media. Women her age would see pictures of him with Luna and come off more than a little jealous.

Luna... a horrid thought struck her: had she slept with Neville to get back at Luna, or Ron, or both of them? Certainly she had been stumbling drunk, as the splitting headache streaking across her forehead indicated. Even so, she felt guilty. Dirty. Unfaithful, if only by the technical definition of the word: though her marriage to Ron was all but over, there still sat his ring on her finger.

Shrinking out of bed, Hermione hurriedly redressed. Chancing one glance back forlornly, she departed.

Neville woke up an hour later to find her gone. He sagged crestfallen as he wondered: had she regretted it?


	8. Chapter 8: Tension Breaks

**Chapter 8: Tension Breaks**

The following day, Neville found himself walking down the hall to Hermione's office, having scheduled a walk-in appointment with Judith. His Gryffindor courage had a mind of its own these days. He wasn't sure just what he was going to say once he got in there, but he knew he had to say something now, or he never would.

He was so jittery, he swept right into Hermione's office without knocking. At her desk, she froze when she saw him, dazedly rounding the corner of the mahogany wood.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered.

Neville fixed her with a smoldering stare. "I think you know."

Their eye contact broke awkwardly. Neville opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione cut across him:

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Neville gaped. He would hear no apologies, not even about the fact that she left him alone in that bed.

Hermione wrung her hands, not looking at him, as she began to pace. "It was a mistake... we both had too much to drink..."

"Hermione..."

"Was I really that bad?" Hermione grimaced as she rounded to face him. "I always did have a steep learning curve navigating my way around a bed; you must have been dying..."

"Hermione..."

"And I'm rarely, if ever, that impulsive -"

"Hermione!" When her pacing turned her to face him, Neville braced her shoulders and kissed her full on the mouth.

Hermione stiffened, let out a startled squeak of surprise as his lips slanted over, conquered, hers. However, in the next instant, she melted, falling limp in his embrace and draping her arms about his neck as she kissed him back. Granting his tongue passage, she moaned incessantly, pleased, her lidded eyes drooping shut. "MmmmmHmmmmm..."

A minute later, they broke apart, gasping. Hermione looked thunderstruck. Neville was panting as he professed:

"You were the best, most bloody brilliant snog and shag I've ever had in my entire life!"

She gaped at him, speechless, long enough for Neville to tilt her head back and press his lips to hers again. This time, they held it, as Hermione's eyes fluttered closed.

They spent the next several minutes like that, openly kissing and each learning what the other liked. They finally had to wrench their lips free of each other for air, and also to explore other parts of their bodies. As Hermione tilted her head so Neville could attack her neck, peppering his lips across her skin, a BEEP pierced the air as Judith's voice came over the intercom: "Madame Minister, your lunch is ready. Shall I bring it up, ma'am?"

_Lunch?_ Hermione thought dreamily. _I'm already having it_, as Neville's mouth closed around the pulse point of her neck, accelerating it under his tongue. Trying to keep her voice in check, she thanked Merlin the intercom was a one way system, as she pressed the button to answer. "Judith -" she gasped as Neville's teeth grazed her skin. "Cancel everything I have today. Including lunch. I am not to be disturbed."

Judith was unfazed. "Very good, ma'am." Neville and Hermione only responded with twin groans. Groans that no one could hear. Her one hand splayed across his back, Hermione fished with her other for the wand in her robes. She pointed it at the door.

"Salvio Hexia... Ooooh... Colloportus..." The door locked. Neville's paw of a hand cupped Hermione's breast, and she eagerly pushed her breasts up against his chest, rubbing them sultrily against his toned pectorals. "Mmmmm... yes, more, please," she rasped. Despite how much he was driving her mad, Hermione managed to seat herself ladylike on her desk as Neville ravished her mouth again. Tipping her back, holding her gently, they both sank onto her desk, their lips bruised and swallowing each other in a battle for dominance. "MmmhhmmmmMmmmm..." Hermione whimpered, as she shrugged Neville's suit coat off his shoulders. She felt her top come undone. Her panties were flooded, dripping wet, and she mewled in arousal when Neville yanked them off with his teeth.

And then he filled her, stretching her core in a way that was no longer uncomfortable, and indeed very familiar, as Neville took Hermione over her desk and the couple had sex...

* * *

The afternoon shadows were stretching across the office as Hermione stirred her head against Neville's bare chest, their foreheads touching. A threadbare blanket covered their naked bodies. She purred in contentment. They had made the best love of their lives on that desk, before staggering over to the couch against one wall for another round.

"The lifts will be closing soon," she murmured dreamily. Neville rustled against her as he shrugged.

"Let's just stay here." They gazed into each other's eyes, now inches away. He caressed her face. "I love you, Hermione."

Her breath caught. "I love you too, Neville." And there was no doubt in her voice. It made an appearance though, as she took in her figure, and how her bare breasts were exposed to the world, resting against his muscles. She drew back a little, suddenly feeling quite shy and not wanting to hurt him. "I... I can move..."

"Don't you dare move," he smiled. The words were firm, but his voice was gentle. Neville ran his fingers through the tendrils of her brown hair. "Hermione?"

"Y...yes?"

"Would you like to go out with me?"

She looked at him, dancing her fingers along his sharp jawline contemplatively. Neville had always been there for her, no matter what, even when Harry and Ron couldn't be. And even though she was by all rights still married, she felt comfortable enough in Neville's bed and his arms to risk her heart again. Gazing at him lovingly, she weakly smiled. "Yes."

Euphoric, he kissed her again chastely. "Thank Merlin! I've been wanting to ask you out for years!" She laughed heartily.


	9. Chapter 9: First Date Snogging Lessons

**Chapter 9: First Date Snogging Lessons**

Neville took Hermione out to a Muggle restaurant for their first date. Reserving a table in the back, he felt relieved at the ensured and strategic privacy; the wizarding media couldn't follow them here. He and Hermione dined by candlelight and champagne.

Hermione was charmed. Neville was kind and considerate. A consummate gentleman. He was socially more adept than she had ever seen him. By the time their bill came, she was thirsty for more than just small talk. But even then, she was shy. This was the first time they had engaged in planned intimacy. Was there more to explore and learn about each other as a relationship moved tentatively forward? Surely there must be.

And Hermione decided to discover and master that intimacy quickly. After their date, she invited Neville back to her flat, leading him home to her one-bedroom apartment in Diagon Alley. Turning the key in the lock, hanging her coat on the rack, she guided Neville over to the couch, turning them to face each other.

"I want to practice kissing," she told him flatly, with no preamble. "I mean, snogging." She flushed rosy pink when he peered at her bemusedly.

"Love, you're already an excellent kisser," Neville told her.

The blush deepened. "Thank you. Nevertheless..." she continued practically. "I want us to absorb everything about each other. Get used to this... intimacy." She cradled his face in her hands. "Go on. Kiss me."

Neville's gaze darkened with lust. He cupped her cheek, brushing her pretty face. Leaning in, he captured Hermione's lips with his. The kiss was tender, sweet, and Hermione found that she very much liked kissing Neville this way. Slow and soft, but still passionate.

Pressing her hands into his chest, she pushed Neville back into the couch cushions and swung one leg over as she moved to straddle him. Sitting atop his waist, she wriggled her hips against the burgeoning evidence of his desire for her. Her tongue swam into the roof of his mouth, and she hummed as they intertwined.

After many minutes of heatedly kissing, they broke apart, both red in the face, but smiling. They curled up on the couch and fell asleep like that together.

And when Hermione woke up in the middle of the night to Neville fondling her before giving her a bloody hot shag, she hardly minded.

* * *

It was getting on holiday time before Neville and Hermione finally agreed to step out together as an official couple. They chose Harry's Christmas party as the debut of their relationship, deciding that it was neutral territory. Of course, Ron and Luna would be there - that was the elephant in the room. With the baby born last month, this was their first chance for a break as parents.

"You don't have to talk to him," Neville soothed his lover. "Neither of us do." In truth, he probably would talk to Luna. It wasn't as though they had hurt each other because by and large, there was nothing there to hurt. Ron and Hermione's encounter would not nearly be as... devoid of emotion.

Harry greeted them warmly, occasionally glancing between the two swapped couples to see if he needed to run interference. He nearly killed Ginny when she announced a game of Spin the Bottle, but he gamely performed a few spells on it, rigging the tool.

When Neville gave the bottle a spin, his heart alighted when it landed on Hermione.

"Five minutes in the closet!" Ginny commanded, and Neville guided his girlfriend in.

They stood their in the darkness for a moment, breathing, Hermione's breasts heaving.

"We... we should probably get started," Hermione whispered breathlessly, and the couple launched themselves into each other's arms, kissing and rummaging furiously.

Outside, five minutes quickly passed. Then seven. At ten minutes, Ron marched up to the door, kicked it, swore at the pain, and went back to the circle. At minute twelve, Ginny finally opened the door to find Neville and Hermione interlocked in a passionate embrace. It looked as if Neville was trying to suck Hermione's tongue out of her mouth, and it didn't seem as if she minded. Harry raised an eyebrow with intrigue, as Neville and Hermione smiled sheepishly, flushing as they exited.

All eyes turned to Ron nervously, wondering how he would react to another man kissing his wife. After a pregnant pause, he shrugged. "If you must, you must."

The weight on Hermione's heart got a little lighter. By the time she and Ron formally divorced at the first of the year, followed soon after by Neville and Luna, she felt content.


	10. Chapter 10: Enchanted Rose Question

**Chapter 10: Enchanted Rose Question**

The rouged petals shimmered as Neville entered Hermione's office, noting how she regarded him with a warm, tender smile as she circled the desk to greet him.

"Hey." She pecked his lips chastely, fingering a petal on the flower curiously. "What's that you've got there?"

In answer, Neville held out the plant to her, dropping down to one knee and also holding a ring box aloft. Understanding dawning, Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth in astonishment.

"Hermione Jean Granger Weasley, Madame Minister, will you marry me?"

Hermione's eyes shimmered even more brightly than the rose, the light catching her unshed tears. She beamed warmly, lovingly, even as her heart raced, trying to work up a response. She hadn't been expecting this.

When nothing happened for a moment, Neville shrugged. "It's all right if you put it off for now. I was just..."

"Yes, I will." Hermione's voice pinged in a whisper.

Neville broke out smiling. "What?"

"Yes." she said again, nodding her head firmly. "Yes." Then, inspired, she reached for her purse. "Let's get married right now."

She guided her confused fiancé down into the bowels of the Ministry, entering the chambers where the Wizgamot was convening. The wigged jurists stood for her at attention. Hermione approached Dennis Creevey, their head.

"Your Honor, I would like to take this man as my husband, if you please."

Dennis scrambled to conduct the ceremony. Neville helped Hermione put on the engagement ring and they exchanged improvised vows. Standing before the judge, Dennis declared Neville and Hermione husband and wife, and they sealed their marriage with a gentle kiss.

* * *

Of course, Hermione also wanted to conduct a traditional church wedding. Their friends went into a tizzy over the news that they were engaged. They didn't have to know that the nuptials had already commenced. To Neville and Hermione's great surprise, Molly Weasley offered them the Burrow to host the ceremony.

Hermione gaped at her ex-mother-in-law. "Molly, I don't want to feel like you have any obligation towards me."

Molly just smiled at her tenderly. "You were married to my son, dear. And I've always thought of you as another one of my children. Besides, it's _him_ I'm more mad at." She needn't identify Ron.

Sensing something in her eyes, Neville decided to preemptively ask for one condition: "I beg of you, be kind to Luna, Molly. And Ron, too." His voice held a plea, but his eyes held a warning. And Molly Weasley noticed. She nodded.

The wedding was held on a lovely spring day. Hermione's parents had passed away from cancer a short time ago, so it was left to Harry to give the bride away. Passing golden bands to each other, Neville and Hermione exchanged vows - planned this time - with Hermione's saved for last.

She beamed at her groom adoringly. "You waited forever for me. And we've come a long way to get here. Well, no more waiting. I love you. I know it might seem simple, but I love you." She took a deep breath and confessed with conviction, "I love my husband."

Two minutes later, that statement was no longer premature.

* * *

At the reception, Neville and Hermione received Ron and Luna warmly, the latter holding their toddler daughter in her arms. They would be married in the fall. Taking her ex-husband aside, Hermione spoke with him privately.

"I forgive you," she cleared the air once and for all. "And for all that's happened between us, I don't regret being with you when I was. We were meant to be friends, even married for a short time... but nothing more." She was secretly glad that she and Ron had never gotten pregnant; a child would have made the upheavals all the more complicated. She peered up into his face. "Do you regret being with me?"

His answer was immediate. "No." He gave her an easy smile. "You could do a bloody lot worse than, Neville. You already have," and he gestured at himself self-deprecatingly.

Hermione smirked, glancing in Luna's direction. "Treat her better," she implored softly.

"I will," Ron murmured low. He then sent her a lopsided grin. "Luna's pregnant again. You'll be godmother? And Neville as godfather? No one better."

Hermione beamed, very touched. "Of course." Smiling gently, the former couple shared a chaste kiss goodbye. And the newlyweds then left for their honeymoon.

Hagrid was off exploring with Grawp for the season - a sabbatical, he termed it - and had graciously offered Neville and Hermione his cabin as a place to stay for their first night before their trip. There, kissing hungrily, husband and wife undressed each other, Neville unclipping Hermione's hair so that her brown locks cascaded down her shoulders in ringlets. Falling back onto Hagrid's more-than-big enough bed, Neville and Hermione made love, consummating their marriage. The marriage they should have been in all along.


	11. Chapter 11: The Babies We Were Meant to

**Chapter 11: The Babies We Were Meant to Have**

Hermione Granger Weasley Longbottom woke up one morning about a year into her and Neville's marriage feeling sick and irritable. Throwing back the covers, she made a mad dash to the toilet and threw up the dinner Neville had sweetly cooked for her last night. The nausea passing, she rose, crossed to the sink, and downed a teaspoon of mouthwash. Her husband, bleary-eyed, appeared in the doorway.

"Everything OK, love?"

"Yes," Hermione got out. Coming to a decision, she turned to face her lover. "Nev, darling, can you give me a moment?"

Neville nodded immediately. He had always been good about letting her have her space. Closing the door behind her, Hermione turned to the bathroom cabinet, and began rummaging around in the back...

Several agonizing minutes later, she emerged into her and Neville's bedroom in a state of disbelief. Neville noted how she looked a little pale, her luminous brown orbs as big as saucers.

"What's wrong, love?"

"I'm pregnant," Hermione murmured, almost as if in a trance.

Silence. Neville gaped, and drew closer to her, resting his hands lightly on his wife's hips and hardly daring to believe it. "Are you really...?"

Failing to bite back a smile, Hermione nodded. "Yes, I am."

Another pause. Then, Neville let out a whoop, picked Hermione up and swirled her around. She clung to his neck, both of them laughing. Finally setting her down, Neville beamed into her eyes. "I love you," he breathed.

She smiled. "I love you back," and drew him close. And as Neville and Hermione embraced and kissed, the dapple morning sunlight cast its rays on a rose on their dresser, in full bloom.

* * *

Nine months later, however, that beaming smile had been wiped clean from Hermione's face.

She now lay flat on her back in a hospital bed in St. Mungo's, cursing and swearing and screaming through the agonizing pain. She was just grateful that Frank and Alice Longbottom, her parents-in-law, were no longer inbound here; they were in a better place. And watching over her and their son, she hoped.

By her side, Harry Potter, her former brother-in-law, directed people in and out like a Muggle police officer in a traffic jam. "Go! Get that syringe ready! I've got this; you take her!"

Hermione was ever so grateful to him. Otherwise, matters could be a whole lot worse. She had hurled obscenities at Neville in the early hours of her labor, abuse that her poor husband was not prepared to take. When she had at one point tried to hex him, Harry had needed to forcibly take her wand away, and Hermione had determined that Neville best get out for his own safety.

Even as she let out another ear-splitting yell, Harry cringed. "I think it's safe to let Neville back in."

While Augusta, Neville's Gran, ran to fetch him, Harry sat by Hermione's side, holding her hand and looking grim, while speaking sweet encouragement into her ear. Gran finally returned with the father-to-be, and led Neville over to his wife.

"I'm sorry... Mmmm..." Hermione wept, gasping, as Neville finished kissing her. "I didn't want to..."

"You didn't," he assured her. "And you won't. You won't do anything but welcome our baby."

Hermione got a dreamy look on her face. "Our baby..." But in the next second, she bared her teeth through a contraction. "Oh, Merlin's pants, it's really happening..."

"I can see the baby crowning," the Healer positioned at Hermione's spread legs cautioned. "Are you ready, Madame Minister?"

Hermione gripped Neville's hand tight in her own. "Yes, I am."

"Then... PUSH!"

Gritting her teeth, Hermione bore down once. Then again. And again. At last, with an agonizing scream, she flopped back into the bedclothes as a cry pierced the air.

"It's a girl!" Harry cheered.

Hermione panted, a deep rise and fall to her chest. "R...Rose," she named her infant, thinking of the beautiful flower that had brought her and Neville together.

"Beautiful," Neville kissed his wife's crown. Then his brow furrowed. "Poor little thing. I'm never going to like my surname."

Hermione frowned. "I like the name Longbottom. I also happen to like _this_ long bottom." And she gave her husband's arse a saucy smack. Neville stared at her in bewilderment as Harry just sat there laughing.

* * *

10-year-old Rose Longbottom observed her parents openly kissing over by the kitchen sink. Most girls her age would still find their parents engaging in public displays of affection icky, but she never had minded. She thought her parents were well-suited to each other, and their flirtations deeply romantic.

Pressing a kiss into his wife's neck, then on her lips, Neville caught his daughter staring. "What? Do I have something in my teeth, Rosebud?"

Rose giggled. "Ugh, you guys are so adorable, I can't even deal! It must have been love at first sight for you."

Hermione glanced back to her husband, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Oh, I wish it had been! But it's a little more complicated than that, sweet pea."

Rose peered at her mother curiously. "Why?"

Neville and Hermione shared a look Rose could not describe, then both turned back to her. Hermione sent her daughter a silent gaze as if to say, _You really wanna know?_ Rose nodded. Hermione took a deep breath. "Well, precious, before I married your daddy... Daddy and I were married to... other people."

Rose's eyes - brown like her mother's - widened in shock. "Really? Who?"

Hermione bit her lip awkwardly. "Ron. Your dad was married to Luna."

"Ron and Luna? As in, Uncle Ron and Aunt Luna?" Rose took a moment to digest this, before her face collapsed in disgust. "Ewwwww! Gross!"

Hermione laughed sheepishly. "I know it sounds a little funny, huh?"

Neville was more comfortable with the history. "But it doesn't really matter, anyway. It led Mummy and I to finding a way to be together. And we got to have you! I wouldn't change any of it, even if I could go back, Rosie."

He paused when he saw his wife fixing him with a curious, adoring stare. "You know something, love? Neither would I."

Neville smiled, and they embraced.


End file.
